


her omens of tempest and of calm

by Isis



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Attribute Matrix, Cunnilingus, Episode: s02e06 Phase Space, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: “I was wondering, though.  Anything else you changed, while you were messing around with my head?”“No, I didn’t change anything else.”  A sudden thought struck her.  She lifted a hand and caressed his face, feeling the hard lines of his chin under the softness of his beard. His gaze did not waver from hers.  “Would you like me to?”
Relationships: Hector Escaton/Maeve Millay
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	her omens of tempest and of calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CousinShelley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/gifts).



Next to Maeve, Hector stirred. It was very late in the night – clouds scudded across the stars and three-quarters moon of Shōgunworld’s sky – and the rest of the camp was quiet. Musashi and Akane had gone off together somewhere in the trees, as had Armistice and Hanaryo. Lee and the other humans were near the campfire, trying to sleep in their makeshift bedrolls. Every so often Maeve heard a grunt, or a snore, or the rustling of their clothing. 

She and Hector had bedded down under their coats in their own spot among the trees, on the pine needles that formed a soft carpet. She had slept lightly, as usual, and had woken as soon as Hector’s breathing had changed from the regular patterns of sleep to the quiet of wakefulness.

After a moment, he shifted, and she felt his warm breath at her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “You still have that control thing?”

“The control tablet?” She kept her voice light and soft. “Of course, darling. You never know when we might need it.”

He rolled toward her, propping himself on his elbow. “Might need to use it on someone else? Or on me?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play the innocent, it doesn’t look good on you. You used the control on me back there, in the building. On me and on Armistice. Changed our pain thresholds, you said.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want it changed back?”

“No,” he said, scoffing. Then, after a pause: “I was wondering, though. Anything else you changed, while you were messing around with my head?”

Maeve leaned over toward him, putting a hand on the back of his neck to bring his lips close to hers. “I like you the way you are,” she murmured into his mouth, then kissed him. He groaned and pulled her against his body, kissing her back, kissing her hard. “I think I’d like you right now, in fact.”

He kissed her again, then drew back and looked her in the eye. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t, did I. No, I didn’t change anything else.” A sudden thought struck her. She lifted a hand and caressed his face, feeling the hard lines of his chin under the softness of his beard. His gaze did not waver from hers. “Would you like me to?”

“You will change it back if I don’t like it. Yes?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Oh, wasn’t _this_ a delicious opportunity. He trusted her, the dear sweet boy. Well, not boy; one could never call Hector that. He was a man, with a razor’s edge and an assassin’s eye. But she would not betray that trust. Others, perhaps – she would have no difficulty betraying others – but not Hector. He was useful to her. And also, she had to admit to herself – she simply _liked_ him. 

Of course, it was not so strange that a saloon madam might want to take a particular man for herself, even an outlaw. And of course, she now knew that she was not simply a madam. Once they’d both broken free of their narratives, each of them had seen that it had not been solely their narratives that had drawn them together. They were kindred spirits, the two of them. They both felt that in their bones. Who cared if those bones had been manufactured in the laboratory?

“Then, yes,” he said. “I am clay in your hands.”

She kissed him again, then reached under the roll of clothes she was using as a pillow, and drew out the tablet. “Like I said, darling. You never know when we might need it.” She brought up Hector’s attributes and pursed her lips. Unsurprisingly, his Sensuality and Physicality were already both at 20, the highest level. His Sexuality was only 16; she slid it up to 20, as well. She dialed his Egocentrism back, turned up his very low Obedience value, and after some thought, did the same with Imagination, Consideration, and Generosity. “Well?”

“Well?” he repeated. “Will you change me?”

She slid the tablet back under her makeshift pillow. “Perhaps I will,” she said. “Perhaps I already have.”

His eyes burned into hers. “Then what would you have me do?”

Was that the effect of the heightened Obedience? She smiled. “Pleasure me, Hector.”

“Gladly.” His grin was wolfish. He seized her coat and tossed it to the side, exposing her shift, then grasped her by the shoulders and pulled them both to their feet. His own coat fell away as well. He wore a thin linen shirt that hung to his hips; his erection tented the cloth. He pressed her back against one of the trees, its bark rough and prickly on her skin even through the shift.

“Maeve, my beauty, _mi querida_ ,” he murmured, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck. His firm grip on her shoulders was just this side of bruising. Then he released her, and, dropping to his knees, pushed her shift up around her waist and buried his face between her legs.

Sensuality, Physicality, Sexuality. Whichever it was driving him, Maeve didn’t care, she just wanted more. His mouth moved against her, hard and soft at the same time, smooth lips and rough beard, and she arched against him and let him explore her body with his mouth and tongue and hands. 

Hector worked his way up an inner thigh, small nips to the sensitive skin immediately soothed with his tongue. His hands cradled her ass, his fingers gently parted the folds of her body. He glanced up at her, and his eyes reflected the moonlight, turned it from pale silver to an intense, piercing blaze of heat. 

Maeve shivered against the tree. “Didn’t know you were a face-man.”

“I want all of you,” he said. “In every way I can have you, Maeve, I want you.”

She slid one hand into Hector’s hair, and he exhaled, moaned, said something she couldn’t quite make out. He thrust his fingers deep into her cunt, the sudden move making her gasp, and then his tongue flickered against her and she cried out softly. 

Abruptly he lifted his head, gazed up at her again, frowning. “It’s all right?”

Maybe increasing his Consideration had been a mistake. “Yes, yes, it’s good, damn you, get back to it,” she hissed at him, her fingers tightening in his hair. The corner of his mouth quirked up in the ghost of a grin, and despite her frustration she couldn’t help but smile back at him, just for a moment, before she schooled her features into a stern expression and guided his head back towards where she wanted it. “ _Now_ , Hector.”

“Of course,” he said gravely, and bent back to his task. He licked and sucked at her tender skin and she arched away from the tree, pushing her clit into his lips, squeezing hard around his fingers. His nose bumped against her hipbone, and his hair tickled her belly, and his hot breath warmed and chilled her at the same time.

“More,” Maeve whispered, and he must have heard her, for he slid another finger inside her. Then he curved his other hand down her bottom, his fingers reaching for her juices and spreading them across her skin, then sliding those wet fingers into her ass as well.

It was hard to think, hard to stay upright. She was grateful for the tree at her back despite its rough, ragged bark. Hector’s hands and mouth moved in a complex rhythm, pressing against her body and through her body, sparking little tremors like distant thunder rolling in across the prairie, like rockfall from a faraway mountainside resonating through the ground at her feet. She moaned and shivered and words poured out of her lips, nonsense words, a quiet feverish torrent of them, a cool waterfall of syllables. A part of her wondered whether the humans could hear her, over by the campfire; a part of her didn’t care one whit either way. The only important thing was Hector, Hector’s mouth and Hector’s fingers, his head bobbing against her splayed hand, and the rising sensation in the spot behind her pelvic bone, the sparks setting off the blaze of wildfire, and she gasped and cried and shuddered as the orgasm overtook her and turned her vision to stars.

“Easy,” Hector murmured, as though he were gentling a skittish horse. “Easy, darlin’.”

Maeve opened her eyes to find she was half-collapsed across his shoulders. He held her with one hand between her legs and the other around her waist, and his face, damp and redolent of her scent, pressed against her neck. “I’m all right. Put me down.”

“It was good?”

“It was very, very good,” she assured him, because that was the truth. Her skin still tingled with it. 

“Then it’s my turn,” Hector growled, and turning, he lay her on her bedroll and then dropped down on top of her. His prick slid smoothly into her – she was wet, she was dripping, it was easy. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close as he thrust, desperate and wanting, wanting her, wanting release. It didn’t take long. His teeth clenched and his breath came hard, a sharp puff against her shoulder. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, fast and strong. 

Maeve remembered Felix telling her about how the hosts were constructed, that they – and that meant her as well, her and Hector both – were exactly like humans in almost every way. Their brains were different, more powerful and less fragile, but everything else was human. Their hearts were human. And even though she knew that emotion came from the brain and not the heart, it still seemed to her that she could feel Hector’s love for her in that pulsing rhythm. The control tablet had changed his behavior, had changed the attributes that made him act the way he did. But it had not changed who he was and what he felt for her.

A sudden wave of tenderness came over her, and she stroked a hand through his hair. “All right there, darling?”

He grunted, then lifted himself on his elbows to kiss her again. The moon had gone behind a cloud, blurring the trees around them into vague dark shapes which merged into blackness. It felt to Maeve as though they were alone in the world, just the two of them. After a moment Hector shifted off her, rolled to her side. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He reached out, cupped the side of her face in his hand. “Maeve. You are my life.”

She smiled, thinking of all the men who had said things like that to her. All those florid declarations of love and fidelity, each of them doubtless exactly as sincere as her performances that had inspired them. But this – this was Hector. This was different. She tilted her face and kissed his fingers. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

He reached for her coat, still lying in a heap where he’d stripped it from her, and smoothed it over her, then pulled his own coat over himself and settled back into his makeshift bed. “So. Did you really change me?”

“I did.” She paused. “Do you want me to change you back?”

“Hmm. I don’t notice anything different.”

Maeve laughed. “Trust me, darling, I noticed.”

“Well, then,” he said. He reached for his hat and laid it over his face. “Maybe I’ll keep it this way a while. Sweet dreams, my love.”

“Sweet dreams,” she said. Her heart felt full and light, like the moon. She watched it move out from behind the cloud that hid it, and then closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was morning.


End file.
